


Torn Asunder

by radflannel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Eluvians, Haven (Dragon Age), M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Original Character(s), Past Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Skyhold, Strip Wicked Grace, Sundermount, Trans Lavellan, explicit for later chapters, i promise not to fuck this up too bad, pseudo-genocide, this is going to be a shitshow folks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-05 02:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16359131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radflannel/pseuds/radflannel
Summary: This is going to be messy. I havent written a fic on a very. long. time. bear with me. thanks.





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be messy. I havent written a fic on a very. long. time. bear with me. thanks.

I want to start off by thanking you. You didn't have to give this fic a chance, but you did. Hope I don't disappoint. This will be a bit canon-divergent. This story centers around Odinel Sabrae-Lavellan. He was like a brother to Merrill and was part of the Sabrae clan on Sundermount. He wasn't there to see Hawke mow them down after the Eluvian was broken, but he witnessed the aftermath. This will all be brought up much much later. This obviously won't be explicit NOW, but for later chapters it will be necesssary, so I'm going to skip the crap and just tag it X for "Xtra-ordinarily sexy" mk?

Varric, in this, calls Merrill "Bambi", not Daisy. This is just a small tidbit I changed because the nickname Varric gives to Odinel is "Thumper" and that's from way back in DA2 when Odinel would visit Merrill in the alienage.

Oh, also, Odinel is a trans man, and a blood mage only by ability. He is a rogue by practice, and a damn good one. He has had no top surgery, so if tiny titties scare you, look away. He also does not have a penis. For obvious reasons.

He also fights a lot with Solas. Hopefully, I'll be able to write that.


	2. Andraste's Golden Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ok here it is! please please please critique me or comment!

"Why can't you just pretend? For me! For the Inquisition!" Cassandra followed Odinel into the war room, anger making her forehead and brow crease. She was trying not to raise her voice at the elf. Trying and failing. Of all the "chosen" she was to be saddled with, it  _had_ to be the dale with a mouth and no Andrastian belief whatsoever.

"So, what, I can lie some more?! And what happens when all of this is over? 'Oh, whoops, just kidding! I'm really just some Dalish, dead-god-loving heathen!'? Do I lie for the rest of my sodding life? Oh, wait, that may not  _be_ very long if we don't seal the giant, gaping hole in the sky!" Odinel was getting progressively louder and progressively more angry. The small elf definitely packed a verbal punch. He'd been saving that onslaught since he was contracted into this outfit. He didn't  _hate it_ , per se, but damned if he would abandon what he had left of his broken heritage. The Elvhen had already lost so much.

"Would you two stop fighting? Whether you believe it or not, Lavellan, this is what the people will call you, this is what many of them believe. They need that belief right now." It was a familiar, sing-song voice from the shadow of the corner of the room. Leliana stepped into the light with a soft smile. "And Cassandra, why is it you always come into the room screaming something or another? I suppose this is why my forces are needed." She chuckled at the face Cassandra made. One of frustration. A small kiss was exchanged between the two and then the other two parties of the war council swept in. Cullen was his normal, dreary self and somehow Josephine looked like a freshly bloomed flower. Odinel ever knew how she managed it.

Odinel leaned heavily on the war table. "Alright, everyone's here. Now... down to business..." 

 

\--

 

It took hours to debate plans of action. Cullen was a very hard and resounding "No" when it came to siding with the mages. Cassandra only wanted to use them, and then put them in circles or control them. As usual, Leliana and Josephine thought freedom-with-restrictions were a good idea, but also thought the templars would do just as well.

"Cullen, you do realize I come from mage blood, right? Having the templars here is not going to help us. In fact, I think they'd see to it that I'm tranquil!"

"I don't think they'd be so quick to condemn you, Lavellan. These are dire times, times when a measured force would do far better than some... group of rebel apostates!"

"They were  _Circle refugees_ , Cullen! They were under  _templar_ command! I don't fucking blame them for rebelling, did you ever see the Circles in Kirkwall?"

"Did  _you_ _?_ " As soon as Cullen snapped back, the conversation was over.

"I side with the mages. We will not collar them like animals. They are people, with laws, just like every other sodding refugee here. Deal with it." Odinel narrowed his eyes at Cullen, and then at Cassandra, and walked out. The room was obviously tense, and he needed a drink.

Thankfully, the walk to the tavern wasn't a long one, just cold. One would think, after dealing with coastal air and then the Brecilian forest, he'd be accustomed to all manner of weather. No. Not a chance. He stepped into the warm building looking like a half-frozen elf-cicle and asked Flissa for the regular. Today had been a long one. With sealing half a dozen rifts to dealing with diplomatic bullshit, he needed something stiff and his favorite story-teller.

"You look like you just stepped in nug shit, Thumper." Varric teased as Odinel made his way over to the dwarf. The same damn table, every damn night. The inquisitor shot him a look as he downed half of his cup in one go.

"I feel like  _actual_ nug shit, Quill. I miss when I was just. Odinel. Just some hunter who didn't devote solely to spite Merethari." He sighed and leaned on the table, forehead barely touching the rough wood. He felt a warm, broad hand on his back and smiled.

"Hey, with any luck, and maybe a damn lot of it, you might be able to get back to being a nobody." Varric was a smartass, but an endearing one. Odinel gave him a gentle shove for that one, making Varric's chair tip just enough to elicit a yelp. Odinel was in a laughing fit after that. "Yes, yes, laugh it up, Thumper. We'll see how chipper you are when I strip you down to your smallclothes with a smile and a good hand."

"Quill, you need to be very careful how you word things, people are going to talk." Odinel rolled his eyes and threw his legs across Varric's lap. He was in a much better mood now. "If Cullen or Sera play, I don't think  _I'll_ be the one stripped. Those two have terrible calls..." He shook his head and Varric nodded, a peaceful smile on his face. In all this darkness, it was nice to have a friendly hearthfire to hover around. That was Varric. Even with the world crashing down on them all, the man could make anyone smile and laugh. Even Cassandra. Odinel respected him for that. It was insane, really. How could one man who had gone through hell and back remain in such decent spirits all the time. He supposed he could ask himself the same thing. Losing one's family, friends, and clan was hard. Starting over was worse. And yet, somehow, the inquisitor remained as snarky and fiery as he always had, perhaps even more so. Odinel was lost in thought over who he was then, how he'd changed, and what all of this was leading to. So lost, in fact, he hadn't realized Varric was slowly falling asleep until ale was spilled on his leg.

"Oi! Varric, dammit. C'mon, I think it's time the both of us turn in." The elf pulled his legs from his friend's lap and Varric groaned.

"Sorry about that, Thumper, haven't been sleeping well."

"That much is apparent. What's kept you up?" Now Odinel was concerned. This is the first time he's seen Varric in any bad spirits. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

Varric was reluctant to give any detail, however. "Not here." he said, and got up, quite somberly, to head to his tent. Odinel, however, followed, unwilling to leave well enough alone. The dale wasn't good at just letting things lie, especially when it came to people he cared about. Varric, unfortunately, knew this. He'd figured he was going to follow him to the tent and that would be that. When Varric heard the flap open up behind him, he knew he'd better start talking, or Thumper would never leave.

"Persistent, aren't you." He crossed his arms and sat on his cot. Odinel simply sat on the floor in front of him and furrowed his brow.

" _Talk_ to me, Varric."

It was enough to crack the hardened merchant. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair and then down his face. "I'm... worried I'm not cut out for this shit, alright? I'm surrounded by trained soldiers and skilled mages, all working to nobly die for a cause, to die for you. There's a goddamn hole in the sky, and I can't even keep my mind on the task at hand!" He pointed up to the corner of his tent, the corner closest to the Breach. It told Odinel that he spent too much time looking at it, probably waiting for some  _thing_ to crawl out of it. Something with too many eyes and a damn lot of tentacles.

"Well, I'm sorry, I thought I was mistaken." Odinel stood up and put his hands on his hips. "I assumed I was in the tent of Varric Tethras, you know, the dwarven not-so-noble, the entrepreneur, the author, the badass who stood with the Champion of Kirkwall, the sharpshot with a beauty of a crossbow, and the most silver-tongued fucker I've ever met. Is that not the person I'm talking to?" The elf grinned and shook his head. "I know how you feel, Quill. You feel in over your head and like you're drowning. It's the end of the sodding world and we are out here doing seemingly fuck-all. You don't even know how big a part you play. You are the good humor we need. The piece of grain-of-salt optimism the travel party is yearning for. It's a quarter of the reason I bring you along everywhere."

"What are the other reasons?"

"Half of it is Bianca. That other quarter is your chest hair."

"Gets 'em every time."

The two shared a laugh. As dire as the situation was, there were bright sides to it. There  _had_ to be. This wouldn't be impossible. Not by a long shot. They just needed to keep moving forward.

"Thanks, Thumper. I needed that." Varric finally shook his head and sighed. "Sometimes I get too caught up in my own head, I guess."

"We all do, Quill. Just come to  _me_ when shit keeps you up. I can help you."

"Y'know... I know you don't like being called this, but if the Maker chose anyone to lead this shitshow, I'm glad it was you. You might just be the--"

" _Don't!_ "

"-- HERALD of Andraste." Varric smirked as Odinel visibly wilted in place, dragging his hands down his face with a muffled "I hate you." snuffed by the palms of his hands.

"Love you too, Thumper. Now, all good leaders need a good night's rest. Get out of here. People might talk."

The dale rolled his eyes and stood proper, flicking Varric gently on the forehead before slipping out. He felt a pressure in his chest, though. Surely it was the ale, he thought. Or he was getting sick from all this frigid snow. He decided the next place they roamed would be a lot damn warmer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: i fixed something because i just remembered we dont meet dorian until... AFTER siding w the mages (or, yknow, templar stuff, but still). so i went ahead and changed it to sera bc lets face it, shed play, shed lose, and shed be showing her arse proudly, snow or no snow. wicked grace games happen early on in this because varric is important to this story and the inquisition needs some light hearted fun at the end of the day.


End file.
